by Mark Rand | Mar 14, 2011 | Poetry
The road, it is quiet again in this suburban town. Be thankful for; the gentle rain; the drains the blood washed down. A while ago when we were here with fire men and police winching the lorry cabin clear. Screams that chilled the blood like ice. It’s thirty for...
by Mark Rand | Mar 14, 2011 | Poetry
The little face with tear-streaked eyes, arms clutching teddy tight. You can’t deceive with little lies; protect her from this sight. You thought you had control of it;, this made you feel so good. if that was so, then why the fit there on your parquet wood? So...
by Mark Rand | Mar 14, 2011 | Poetry
“Red call please”, Its two in the morning, Call comes through without a warning. “Woman, 30, short of breath”, We hit the road to stop her death. She’s somewhere in the heart of town, Blue strobes flash, we hurtle down. Taxis flash and steer away To not impede...
by Mark Rand | Mar 14, 2011 | Poetry
The car looks fine from the back as we pull up to a stop, but we can see the debris and the grim faced traffic cop. “You’re needed here”, he indicates, “There’s three kids in the rear”. He need not mention mum and dad; they are no longer here… Three pairs...
by Mark Rand | Mar 11, 2011 | Poetry
There is and always will be war, no matter where or what it’s for. For those who battled, those who died, did so for more than country’s pride. They did it for the rights of others; Kinfolk, strangers, children, mothers. They fight to keep darkness at bay,...
